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Of course. Mario was one of Dad’s dozens of musclemen. He had the shape and IQ of a brick.
I had a feeling Papa wasn’t going to let me sneak anywhere he couldn’t see me tonight, precisely because he knew Angelo and I got along a little too well.
Papa was overall supportive, but he wanted things to be done a certain way. A way most people my age would find backward or maybe even borderline barbaric.
I wasn’t stupid.
I knew I was digging myself a hole by not fighting for my right for education and gainful employment.
I knew that I should be the one to decide whom I wanted to marry.
But I also knew that it was his way or the highway. Breaking free came with the price of leaving my family behind—and my family was my entire world.
Other than tradition, The Chicagoan Outfit was vastly different from the version they portrayed in the movies. No gritty alleyways, slimy drug addicts, and bloody combats with the law.
Nowadays, it was all about money laundering, acquisition, and recycling. My father openly courted the police, mingled with top-tier politicians, and even helped the FBI nail high-profile suspects.
In fact, that was precisely why we were here tonight.
Papa had agreed to donate a staggering amount of money to a new charity foundation designed to help at-risk youth acquire a higher education.
Oh, irony, my loyal friend.
I sipped champagne and stared across the table at Angelo, making conversation with a girl named Emily whose father owned the biggest baseball stadium in Illinois.
Angelo told her he was about to enroll into a master’s program at Northwestern, while simultaneously joining his father’s accounting firm.
The truth was, he was going to launder money for my father and serve The Outfit until the rest of his days.
I was getting lost in their conversation when Governor Bishop turned his attention to me.
“And what about you, Little Rossi? Are you attending college?”
Everyone around us was conversing and laughing, other than the man in front of me. He still ignored his date in favor of downing his drink and disregarding his phone, which flashed with a hundred messages a minute.
Now that he looked at me, he also looked through me.
I vaguely wondered how old he was. He looked older than me, but not quite Papa’s age.
“Me?” I smiled courteously, my spine stiffening. I smoothed my napkin over my lap. My manners were flawless, and I was well versed in mindless conversations. I’d learned Latin, etiquette, and general knowledge at school. I could entertain anyone, from world leaders to a piece of chewed gum. “Oh, I just graduated a year ago. I’m now working toward expanding my social repertoire and forming connections here in Chicago.”
“In other words, you neither work nor study,” the man in front of me commented flatly, knocking his drink back and shooting my father a vicious grin.
I felt my ears pinking as I blinked at my father for help. He mustn’t have heard because he seemed to let the remark brush him by.
“Jesus Christ,” the blond woman next to the rude man growled, reddening.
He waved her off.
“We’re among friends. No one would leak this.”
Leak this?
Who the hell was he?
I perked up, taking a sip of my drink. “There are other things I do, of course.”
“Do share,” he taunted in mock fascination.
